Venusian Sunset
by DreamHeart
Summary: Sitting alone one night, Kunzite recalls how he came in to possesion of his most cherished keepsake as well as his past. Enter the memory of the Stone General. Implied KunziteMinako. 3rd place Winner General in the 2005 SM Annual Reader's Choice Awards.


**Venusian Sunset**

By - DreamHeart

AN – Hey, ya'll! This is a Kunzite fic that was inspired by a song. Which song you ask? You have to read it first, silly. The song and artist information are included at the very end. Mina and Kunzite are my second favorite couple. I'd be interested to know what you think – so R/R!

DISCLAIMER – I DO NOT own Sailor Moon or any of its characters, nor do I own the song at the end of the fic. I DO own the story though. Plagiarism is bad. Don't make me have to hunt you down!

* * *

Sitting on my bed I glanced longingly at the painting on the wall and wished for the millionth time that it could have been.

What has become of me? I'm trapped in the past, trapped in a hell that I created. I stare down at my hands as I have done countless times before; my hands are stained with blood, her blood. I allowed myself to be consumed by doubt and that made me vulnerable. Vulnerable, what a laugh, the great stone general was vulnerable . . . is vulnerable. And because of that I am not worthy to live, let alone seek out their forgiveness. I betrayed them both. I betrayed my soul. But maybe this painting is enough, enough to keep me going until I can somehow redeem myself . . . but that day will never come. Until then all I have are my memories and this painting.

The memory of that day makes me smile. It gives me some glimmer of hope, of forgiveness. I mean, who would have thought that my most cherished possession would be found on a beach?

* * *

It had all started that morning. I decided to take a walk on the beach. I live on the beach, you know, but I never walk along the shore. Maybe it's because it reminds me of her and happier days. I took her to the beach once to let her see the sunset and how the glimmer of twilight danced upon the waves. She said it reminded her of home . . . but I digress.

I stumbled upon an old man on this most memorable occasion. He was camped on the sand with an easel painting the waves as they rolled in. I remember being in awe of his workmanship. I could almost feel the gentle breeze and mist as I at stared it. He smiled at me then with twinkling eyes and said thank you. Extending a calloused hand he told me his name, a name that I no longer recall and I told him mine. Kunzite. He blinked and for a moment I could have sworn that he could see the blood on my hands. I turned to go then ashamed of myself once more but was amazed when he called me back and asked if I would like a drink. Nodding I sat down next to his chair in the sand and took the offered beverage. We sat there for a few minutes in comfortable silence listening to the crashing of the waves against the shore.

But his painting intrigued me. Maybe just maybe he could offer me at least a glimpse at the one thing I desired the most. Curious I asked him if he only painted ocean scenes. He ran a hand through his thin gray hair and smiled once more at me. For twenty dollars, I'll paint you anything. I suppose my face lit up or at least something along those lines because he chuckled softly. Then pulling an empty canvas out of his bag he asked me what I would like.

I felt my mouth go dry at that question but somehow managed to find my voice. The sunset playing off the waves with her sitting on the shore, the water just touching her feet, dressed in a cornflower blue sundress that matched her eyes, her hair like homespun gold, gazing back at the viewer with those soul piercing eyes. His face fell at my description. I could see every wrinkle, every line. He was so unlike the jovial old man I had met before; he was so sad and weary. Then he gave me a sad smile. He told me that he had been there before and took up his brush.

He never said a word to me after that. Nor did he look at me. He was completely immersed in his work. I watched him work with bated breath. How could I not? Because in some small way he was giving me back my angel. Minako. Her name once rolled off my tongue with ease, but I'm not even worthy of that anymore. The memories flooded back as I watched him lovingly create her on the canvas. The way she flitted about the castle, the way she held herself in training, her laugh, everything haunted me, tortured me. But nothing could hold a candle to her eyes. The way they lit up and danced when she laughed, the way they held a mischievous gleam when she was up to something . . . . Sigh, they were the windows to the heart and soul that she had most lovingly given to me. I allowed my eyes to stray once more to my hands and almost blanched. I saw her blood once more, heard her pleading with me to stop, the shocked gasp as I ran my sword through her, saw the tears and sorrow in her beautiful eyes as she whispered, "I love you."

The old man cleared his throat then forcing me back to reality. Was he done already? It seemed like mere moments ago that he began. I looked up and was shocked. He had captured the beauty of that night as if he had experienced it first hand . . . but nothing had prepared me to stare once more into the depths of those sad blue eyes. I was holding her as I had done that night, one arm draped lovingly across her shoulders as we both looked back at the viewer. How I longed to feel her in my arms once more. . . . I whispered my thanks and numbly extended to him the twenty dollar bill that was nowhere near the value of this most precious gift. He gave me that sad smile once more and said, "No charge."

Nodding I gave him a watery smile and shook his hand one last time before carrying my treasure back to my house.

* * *

My Minako. How I wish things could be the same as they were that night, the way they should have been. I'll love you forever. I just wish I could have been the man I promised to be, the man that you deserved. Until then, my love, this painting will be enough.

* * *

AN - For those of you who are interested this story was inspired by the song "Paint Me a Birmingham" by Tracy Lawrence. I hope that you have enjoyed this depressing little fic. Personally I think it's interesting. . 


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